


‘Tis but a Rash

by Helholden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helholden/pseuds/Helholden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-ship. Sandor is Sansa’s sworn shield/bodyguard. Sansa “discourages” any women that pay attention to him. Sandor is oblivious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	‘Tis but a Rash

**Author's Note:**

> Another fulfilled tumblr prompt! A little humorous, a little serious.

* * *

 

Women looked at him from time to time, of course. Though his face was ruined by the horrible act he had suffered under his brother’s hand as a child, Sandor was well-built and muscular, and when he trained green boys inside of the castle in one of the open spare rooms, they would oft get so sweaty in their endeavors that they had to remove articles of clothing. Not that Sansa paid any attention to things like that. Being the lady that she was, she never peered around the corner of the threshold, her delicate fingers curling about the doorframe as she watched the play of muscles across Sandor’s chest while he swung his sword and growled deep in his throat at his training opponent.

 

No, Sansa was too much of a lady for that, and a lady did not reveal her secrets.

 

She wasn’t the only one, however. Sansa noticed other women, lowborn more oft than not, peeping at Sandor whenever he trained or giggling sometime after he had passed them by in the hallway. At first, she had thought them giggling at his scars, which made her angry, until she realized that as he walked away their eyes were not on his face.

 

Unnervingly, this made Sansa very flustered and perhaps even a little jealous.

 

It was none of her business who took interest in Sandor, and none of her business who he took interest in either. After all, he was only her sworn shield since her return to the Winterfell. As they plotted left and right to marry her, Sansa turned down every opportunity and every hand offered, but she could not keep her eyes off of Sandor, and she did not wish to look away.

 

One day, she heard those same two young women from the hallway talking of Sandor in hushed whispers, giggling again, so when Maester Ollivar, an old man who was hard of hearing, walked by her, Sansa took the opportunity.

 

“Maester Ollivar,” she said loudly, “has Sandor Clegane’s rash cleared up?”

 

“His . . . his rash, my lady?”

 

“Yes,” Sansa replied in a pointed manner, “his rash. From the whoring. He was most unlucky in what he received, I heard.”

 

Luckily for her, Maester Ollivar heard _woolens_ instead of _whoring_ , which Sandor had developed a nasty skin reaction to a woolen tunic that she had made for him. The giggling girls did not know that, though.

 

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Oh, yes, yes. I mean, no, no, no. The rash is still there, my lady, I’m afraid. He still complains of much itching. I have not yet found a remedy for it . . . ”

 

Sansa sighed, shaking her head. “Poor man,” she said. She glanced over at the girls, who had stopped in the hallway to listen, but there was no more giggling to be heard. Their faces were horrified, and then without another word, the two of them hurried away to go about their duties. “Thank you for all you have done for him, Maester Ollivar,” Sansa told him, tipping her head towards him in a small bow.

 

Maester Ollivar smiled back, bowing his head as well. “You are most welcome, my lady.”

 

A few days later, Sansa found Sandor in the training yard on the outside grounds away from their usual routine of him at her side. He had not acted any different towards her, so Sansa supposed her attempt to scare off the women had gone according to plan without any unforeseen circumstances. However, she noticed Sandor fighting with more fury than usual. When she asked one of the observers what had happened to cause such a furious duel, he said there had been much laughter at the Hound’s arrival to the yard and the Hound had grown enraged over his reception, taking it out on his opponent, though he had no idea what had caused the laughter of the crowd himself.

 

Sansa felt her face heat up as she glanced out at Sandor’s militant form, swinging his sword aggressively and hacking the boy’s shield in two. She gasped, but Sandor gave the boy time to escape and scramble back to his feet. Glancing around the watching crowd one more time, Sansa noticed it was surprisingly full of only men and boys. There were no girls.

 

Her plan to scare them off might have worked a little too well.

 

The fight was over, and Sandor made his way towards the wooden rail to get a drink of water. Sansa hurried through the crowd to reach him, entering the yard even if it was not considered appropriate for her to be there. Sansa was afraid he might have heard the story today, and now he might be upset at her, but Sandor only seemed to grin wolfishly at her.

 

“Come to see me fight?” he asked her.

 

Sansa smiled slightly at his question. “Yes,” she responded, “I love to see you fight, my lord.”

 

“Lord,” Sandor repeated as he put down the cup in his hand. If Sansa wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of longing in his voice. His eyes, looking off, reverted back to her. “Maybe you might give me that title one day,” he added gruffly, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, lifting its point from the dirty snow on the ground that was muddled from the sand.

 

Sansa had never thought of it before. That Sandor might want the burden that came with such a title, or was he only japing with her? Most of the time with him, it was hard to tell. He liked to mock those above him, even here in his new home of Winterfell, and Sansa began to wonder if it was not just envy instead of distaste behind his words.

 

Sandor headed into the middle of the training yard again, but he looked back at Sansa briefly as she stood there by the wooden post, and he gave her a look that wasn’t quite a smile but close to it.

 

It made Sansa wonder, if only for a moment, if she had to have told that silly lie in the first place.

 

 


End file.
